The Spread: Livia Schultz
by Jade Celandine
Summary: Getting off Earth at all was never in Liv's life plans, not even with stuff like Starfleet and alien races abounding all over the place. She just didn't care about the black. Until she went on a totally impulsive tourist trip to Vulcan. And then this guy Nero tries to burrow a black hole into the core of the planet she was standing on. What the Hell else was she supposed to do?
1. Spread Your Wings

_**A. N: Just had to try this idea out. (Shrugs) If it works, it works.**_

 _ **And damn, just shy of 2000 words? I need to type more descriptively.**_

 _ **As always, I own nothing of the original works I am AU-ing this from. Be aware that I have quite a few beefs to take up with the movies, so prepare for a thorough butchering of canon while trying to stay in canon.**_

 _ **Jade Celandine, out!**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: Spread Your Wings**_

 **Unlike most, my story after the war was not one filled with righteous suffering and a certain element of petty vengeance. Actually, I was but three years old when the Second Wizarding War ended, and it had been more than fifteen years after that when the exodus began.**

 **I was not from any sort of involved family, nor will I lay claim to be one of those who gave of themselves to rebuild. I was simply one of the few lucky enough to find a way in before they got paranoid in the ending stages of the project.**

 **No doubt others had more profound reasons than I; my reason for leaving was because I wanted to travel somewhere without the caveat of dying in six months to a year. Simple, to the point, with a bonus of leaving the average passerby with the impression that I was more than a little callous. I prefer the term Chaotic Neutral, thank you.**

 **Like all the rest, I wasn't picky. Oh, I hoped for someplace nice, of course, perhaps with a similar level of culture and technology that I was used to, but if I had to settle I would probably go for technological inferiority – hacking for the necessary electronic records can be such a** _ **bitch.**_ **Besides, overawing someone with knowledge of science can be beneficial especially when you've got magic on your side to bend the rules every now and then.**

 **But, I suppose not everyone gets what they want...**

* * *

Liv dozed against the window of the police hovercar as it wound around traffic towards the station, fingers working subtly and quietly to short the electronic cuffs long enough for them to let her slip them off. A little fun fact about those cuffs: not only were they supposed to be able to tell when someone was trying to fiddle with them, but they were also programmed to erase all accumulated data when turned off, a way to keep information within the police station to their databases. Those were easy to hack too, though Starfleet had been passing its old security software down; maybe she should take a jaunt around later on and check out the changes. Either way, this was probably the thirteenth arrest that was never recorded. Smart of them to put drones on the streets instead of people with memories lasting longer than a week, ain't it?

"Lights out," she muttered at the useless things as she very casually fiddled with the right circuitry left exposed behind the police bots to wipe recordings of her most recent 'misdemeanor' and dropped herself off on the sidewalk. Hands in her pockets, the auburn teen walked two blocks to her favorite cafe in New Orleans: The Crusty Crab.

Unlike what one would expect of a frequent petty criminal like herself, she considered herself off the beaten path in the local underworld, unwilling to get involved in the politics and even more unwilling to be involved by anyone who was. After all, Liv never picked pockets or snatched trinkets off the stores for the money; she didn't need it, having what amounted to an entire fortune in gold bars and jewelry inside a few trunk compartments on her choker. The purpose for her criminal activities was usually because she wanted to, or as a favor to a mostly unaware benefactor. There wasn't much a girl could do without a good electronic base identity, and the witch didn't want to put her meagre hacking skills to the test just yet. She was still on constructing temporary identities that conveniently vanished like smoke if pursued, and going to something resembling a higher education institution required an established and excellently forged persona.

" _Bonsoir_ , my good men!" she grandly announced herself with a dramatic flourish at the doors. The bartender, a Betazoid with more than enough experience with her particular set of brainwaves merely chuckled at her along with the regulars listening to strains of some old country song. It was after her time, and she thought nothing more of it as the witch fairly bounced to the bar.

"Good evening, Bayezid."

" _Bonsoir_ , Tweety Bird."

Bayezid was like every other business owner in the Katrina District, renamed after the devastating hurricane a couple hundred years ago completely flattened the place (the sense of bitter irony in the given Orleanian citizen was not lost in their subsequent naming conventions): he dabbled on both sides of the law to keep his business afloat, serving gangsters and thugs the same as he did tourists. And if there was a bit of money set aside for when some guy or other comes around asking for protection money? Well, it was just part of business around here. Liv got her news and potential fences in his bar in return for gossip from the rest of the city's underground.

"So how is my favorite petty thief in this neck of the bayou?" he asked with elderly amusement as she sauntered into the bar. Said thief dramatically gasped and placed a hand on her chest for good measure.

" _Petty?_ Just petty, really? I thought my contributions meant so much more to you than that."

"It does when you give me unusual news. The kind that goes away once you get to just the good news." Rolling her eyes at the playful banter, Liv took out a credit chip and tapped it against the counter. "Your usual," he handed the Bloody Mary to her, whereupon she began to whisper at high pitch and speed while sipping at her cocktail.

While she could read the common alley-signs as well as every local in the neighborhood, only the former witch admitted to possessing mastery over the high-pitched vocal exercise known in street cant as 'twittering'. Developed in New York as a Broadway actor's way to communicate with his writers while ad-libbing, it was a skill she and a couple of other classmates had developed as a curiosity before she got out of school and realized just how useful it could be. It earned her the name 'Tweety Bird', after all.

But while the talent served her well, it was still better kept to herself, especially given the alien populations with enhanced senses around these days. Where a human had to be trained to perceive and translate high-pitched syllable-chains, most other touristing races had evolved to naturally detect and understand them, making her talent useless in protecting special information were she forced to work with undesirables in the business.

Luckily, her bartender/informant, called a 'birdie' in her own personal slang, was in the habit of catering to a mostly human clientele.

So he was able to nod and hum at the appropriate parts, for all the world looking like he was listening to the jukebox while Liv whistled to it. "Twenty bucks busted by the Docks; Fives'. Blood clot in Abby Ay-O, needed tourney. Star-shee wants new dust..."

And on it went, a summation of the lives of underworld denizens as they saw and spoke of it, with the kind of slang that no one else would ever admit persisted to the 23rd century. She mixed in some thieves' cant in her speech and recitations, a verbal badge of affiliation made common because of the increased efficacy and range of surveillance technology. Unlike a majority of residents in the underworld, the witch was one of the few who managed to break into the wider world of municipal crime and had to learn the proper cant, making her capable of suppressing the accent in respectable company to prevent detection. Of course, a great deal of other people she knew could do it too, so it wasn't as though she held another unique talent in that regard.

Having a British accent in normal speech, however, brought teasing about her 'poshness'.

She had finished her report by the time the second song was halfway done, taking the next cocktail with a friendly nod and began to nurse it. Completely ignoring that it was noon and she hadn't had lunch yet.

Maybe she'll get something out of that coffeeshop she used to work in a few months ago, though she'd likely have to check if that damned bint who got her fired was still around…

* * *

When she ambled along to the apartment complex she was crashing in that week and saw unfamiliar cars around the building, the thief immediately ducked behind a corner and scanned the windows. Thank God that she scored a unit with windows out the front; made things easier if she could track which of her neighbors was being busted.

Damn.

Looks like it was her, today.

Knowing that she had no choice, Liv effortlessly coasted back around the corner like she had just gotten out the building, flipping out a PADD and tilting her face so that she looked engrossed in the screen while keeping her face hidden from people and the cameras on the sidewalk. Now, as soon as she got out of range, she could climb onto the rooftops from any of the alleyways and fire escape staircases, and if she passed through the Flit to get to one of her storage lockers, she could dig out some essentials to get outta New Orleans until things cooled off or she found out what got her on the radar.

Keeping a strictly civilian pace, the thief made a grueling trek to the other side of the city, taking the most circuitous route on foot that she could find. Thirty-five blocks total away from the police, she swung up the roof of a motel and doubled back through the cables and disguised upper pathways of the Flit, where almost none of the criminal element dealt with anyone on 'the ground'.

Baring her teeth at those who looked at her – that was the polite way of doing things – Liv stalked almost halfway back the way she came to the nearest platform next to the spaceport. A townhouse garage opened with a whispered "Alohomora," because she had no need for keys, whereupon the thief promptly picked up a duffel bag full of credits, clothes, and ID from a forger who used to owe her favors before he mass-produced a grab-bag of identities for when she had to lie low in a hurry.

Or, in this case, when she had to officially exist.

Casually, Liv picked the pockets of five different passengers and employees, then checked the cities of residence.

The witch took off her cap and lined up. Like every other passenger, she handed over her PADD and smiled at the attendants. Demurely, politely, she made excuses and extended thanks with a soft, timid Oxford accent, hunched over ever so slightly and eyes cast down at all times except to look out the window or at her bag.

Ten minutes later, the shuttle zoomed off to San Francisco.


	2. Catch the Wind

_**A.N: The blow-up of alerts and favorites that erupted when I put this story up! Thank you so much for supporting me!**_

 _ **As I am without a beta and only sporadically consult with my friends who also write online, don't hesitate to let me know of grammatical or spelling errors. My perception of how Vulcans behave and speak is also iffy, so be unafraid to point out errors in that. If you feel like the story's pace is off, too, give me a PM.**_

 _ **I hope you keep enjoying my characters as much as I do, so without further ado, let's read on!**_

 _ **Jade Celandine, out.**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2: Catch the Wind**_

The three months spent in San Fran were frankly… disappointing.

At least from Liv's tourist side; it was like everyone in the city had decided that since Starfleet Academy was going to be the big attraction, everything else was going to be geared around it and interstellar tourism, in general. Oh, all the classics were still up and operational, if internally modernized, but there wasn't much the witch could do and see that wasn't connected to extraterrestrial travel.

And when she said that everything had something to do with Starfleet, be assured that she meant everything.

To be fair, though, the Academy striplings were adorable. So swelled up with purpose and what they felt they were working up to, so easy to con. Dear Merlin, they were the easiest marks that ever walked the streets! If she hadn't been deliberately avoiding crime life while she was there, she could've done _way too much_ with what she got just striking up random conversation.

So, by the end of her second month, she'd gotten bored, and discovered the quiz tournaments.

In a tradition that hearkened back to UK bars and pubs in late 20th century Great Britain, mostly around the universities, 'quiz' tournaments were a bit of a misnomer, as they were more a free-for-all trivia test going from ancient literature to cutting-edge astrophysics. For money prizes or free drinks, competitors answered or solved questions from any possible topic, though bars these days seemed to have picked general specializations. Liv had her share of fun: though she never did win many of the contests, she ended up with a respectable enough tab to pay off her drinks and the occasional dish from a really good pub.

It still didn't take her long to get out of San Francisco before six months had gone by, and start shuttle-hopping to every city and tourist trap on Earth. The previously-neglected language lozenges were getting copious use now, though it unfortunately wasn't calibrated for alien languages like Vulcan or Betazoid.

The last time Liv tried making her own – despite the clearly printed, professional instructions smack dab in front of her – backfired so spectacularly that she really saw no choice other than to learn the old-fashioned way.

The thief also had to leave Lyon really, really fast.

* * *

The witch had decided: her first alien language was going to be Vulcan.

It took her a great degree of thought despite enjoying the treats – oh, the chocolate – of Belgium and Luxembourg. She wanted a language that was well-translated in official databases so that she could get easy, reliable pointers, but uncommon enough in practice that the only people who were likely to speak it were the race that spawned it and any Starfleet officers who were absolutely serious about the Communications track in school.

Ferengi, Orion, and Klingon were thus out. Many other languages either required non-existent organs to aid in vocalization, or incorporated other aspects of their native physique that no foreigner possessed and could thus replicate.

Since the quiz tournaments she had been attending lately asked after Vulcan literature, the thief figured that she'd might as well brush up on necessary skills.

But it meant that she was going to have to be stationary for most of the time. Likely a few years. Damn it; it better not get her in trouble.

* * *

Liv had parked herself in Stockholm for close to three months before she'd gotten to know one of the commuters in the local neighborhood well enough to be awarded his name: M'Fau N'Keth. He was an employee of the Stockholm Science Museum, mostly in the biology department. Liv had introduced herself as Elizabeth Carter, recent Oxford graduate for a Chemistry degree.

Limited Potions mastery aside, a great deal of the subject was indeed translatable to Mundane chemistry and cooking if one ignored the fact that many of the ingredients and instructions had fantastical origins/effects. For the most part.

The thief was able to make his acquaintance by getting a job nearby, a cafe-style restaurant that took advantage of the visitor stream into and out of the museum. They fell into a habit of going home on the same bus at the same time, and after a month of that, one staged conference call later where he could hear it about a 'logic' tournament at a pub in the next district over prompted him to extend inquiries. All gracious-like, Liv returned with an invitation to said logic tournament after explaining exactly what it actually was.

When the Vulcan male witnessed the usual night's scale of competition, he was intrigued enough to communicate with her further.

More convoluted than expected to break through the traditional reserve, but the witch was proud she'd managed it. After two months' continued interaction wherein she made her mastery of languages and enthusiasm for learning more than evident, she began to ask questions about Vulcan culture after ostensibly taking his measure. N'Keth thankfully didn't wonder why she seemed so thorough about it and proved rather accommodating, giving Liv even more room to get to know him.

Personally, he was an okay guy: stiff and stoic, but that was par for the course. N'Keth had an understanding of his subject that far surpassed even a Doctorate's, which betrayed a great deal of enthusiasm for it that he never would've expressed otherwise. Liv wasn't quite sure whether the subtle detailing on his clothing hems were personal choice or depicted something symbolic, but she'd noticed that he never wore those shirts when they were going to eat or do something with a similar expectation of at least minimal mess. He preferred 22nd century guitar, and was rather laid back compared to standard opinion about his race off-shift.

In return, N'Keth knew that Elizabeth was an exercise nut, favored blue over green if given the choice, and had eclectic music tastes that rivaled her style. An article of significance to her was a tight, silver-chained choker with a charm on it depicting an intricate luggage trunk. Though petite and physically unimposing, the Vulcan had witnessed impressive feats of flexibility, endurance and strength during a social outing wherein she introduced him to a discipline known as 'parkour'. Liv, as she greatly preferred to be called, was also slightly fixated on her personal appearance, endeavoring always to appear elegant and professional.

Against her will, she had also decided that he was a perfectly okay friend, too. One of her first in this world.

* * *

After six months of essentially adopting him into a previously-nonexistent social circle, the two of them met up in a small but classy patisserie at their customary time of 2:13pm. N'Keth selected his usual tea and matcha cheesecake while Liv, who was in a habit of perpetually trying new sweets, ordered a Lady Earl Grey and a chocolate-caramel fudge cake. The slice presented to her was an artery-blocking monstrosity that would've given her horrific health complications later in life were she not a witch and a very physically active thief who could use every squick of sugar in said slice to wander the city. Since her Vulcan friend only knew that she took pleasure in physical exercise, his eye still twitched in the closest approximation of a grimace he could manage at the sight of said monstrosity. The young woman merely smiled in obvious humor and dug in.

"Your eating habits do not coincide with any currently public guidelines for proper nutrition, enough that it is likely your continued health is reliant on a genetic benefit. You must try to adhere more closely to… more appropriate meal guides," N'Keth opened. He'd been trying to convince her to lay off on the sweets ever since he'd caught on to exactly how big of a sweet tooth she'd had.

Liv didn't roll her eyes, but it was a close thing. "Healthier meal guides do not take into account that I am a person who runs around for most of the day and does even more running – among other exercises, all over the city on her weekends. Sugar and carbs should be emphasized in my personal diet. Which they currently are," she pointed out, scooping up another slice after a sip from her tea.

"The rate at which we attend mealtimes together indicates that you spend at least one meal in the day with a companion," the Vulcan reposted. "Given that approximately 87.356% of those meals were partaken in a sweet shop of some sort, the amount of sugar and carbohydrates in your diet is already too high to be considered healthy by any dietary professional."

"You showed my lunches to a doctor, didn't you?" Her deadpan gave her the male's exact facial expression for a split second.

"Multiple doctors, for the most balanced set of conclusions. They were all understandably concerned for your continued health." N'Keth was steadily demolishing his cheesecake.

Actually, 'understandably concerned' was a bit of an understatement. The doctors who viewed the data and extrapolated how it would affect human physiology if they were permanent meal options wondered how she wasn't saddled with obesity and/or a bucketful of health complications by now.

The witch sighed. "God save me from overly concerned friends," she muttered, then plainly changed the subject. "N'Keth, do you know of any credible guides to learning Vulcan? I have just recently finished learning Heian-era Japanese, and would tentatively prefer that the next language I pick up will also be the first off-world one I have been taught." The witch looked at him expectantly; he was unexpectedly reliable like that.

Was it just the lighting, or was he… smiling ever so slightly? Liv was knocked off that train of thought when the Vulcan male was indeed able to refer her to excellent authors and sites to jumpstart her learning. "In order to facilitate your acquisition of the Vulcan language, it is suggested that you be accessible to consistent tutoring wherein you may practice your pronunciation. As there is a currently approaching break in the year where I may visit my clan within the next 2.47 days, it is also recommended to seek alternative tutors so that you may continue your education."

Liv blinked at him. "Why on Earth should I have to stay?" She sounded honestly confused.

Now it was the Vulcan's turn to frown ever so slightly in consternation. "You have a stable income and residency, however there has been no proof presented that allows you to withdraw from your current occupation at this time."

The witch 'ohhed', then smiled reassuringly at her friend. "I had been traveling all over Earth for a year before I stopped at Stockholm to earn a few credits. Before I made friends with you, I had originally intended to earn just enough for a shuttle and some comfy nights at the next hotel." She tilted her head for a moment to let the statement sink in, then added, "Would it be more convenient for you if I came along? I haven't been off-world, you see, as I've had no reason to before."

N'Keth paused. "It would be efficient if you had a single consistent tutor, and my parents had been unsatisfied by my reports of being unable to complete my quota for socialization." It was as close as an admission for him.

Liv's heart, almost against her will, warmed. Who knew a Vulcan had versions of sweet? "Just don't introduce me within a non-platonic relationship, please. I haven't even gotten started just yet on phrases I _must_ learn to pronounce correctly."

He blushed. The thief grinned devilishly.

Finally!

* * *

Almost as if to make up for his expression of mortification, N'Keth was exceptionally stoic as he assisted the young woman with her preparations for her first off-world tourist trip. He advised her on both clothing norms in the city as well as the general climate, which was essentially hot and dry enough that she ended up packing for what looked like a desert trip. Liv groaned to herself out of his sharp hearing; Egypt was a thing she had hoped to avoid for the rest of her life.

Her wardrobe now consisted of long, almost Arabic-style robes with deep hoods and tight sleeves. Apparently, fashion on his planet currently favored form-fitting, stiff bodices that were composed of material able to breathe and cool the body underneath, the thicker the better. It was hellishly expensive, enough that she'd had to take a couple of shavings off one of her gold bars, but she'd managed to get a single, detailed outfit as he had described for if she'd ever had to go somewhere nice while she was on Vulcan.

After the clothes and toiletries were heaps of sunscreen and a hand fan, a painted and oiled scene on rice paper from when she had gone to Japan and which she couldn't bear to part with.

Everything else was packed up in small boxes and sent to one of her legally owned storage units to keep until she needed them again. Though tiresome, Liv had cast spells all over the units tied to a constantly-updating inventory parchment on her person, showing what was where whenever she needed it. If she could, she thought she might get a similar arrangement set up on Vulcan, if the outing turned out well and she liked the place.

And then they were off.

* * *

The interstellar shuttle to the planet Vulcan would take three days' travel from Earth. Most passengers were like N'Keth, Vulcans on leave to visit or return to their families for a time, and the whole set-up was the very picture of orderliness and calm. On their seats, Liv pulled out a rare, paper-copy of His Dark Materials in a massive omnibus while N'Keth blinked at it, ignoring his own PADD.

This particular shuttle was run by a Vulcan company, and thus served their native cuisine. The thief decided that it was alright for being mostly spicy and based on soup, though she discovered an adoration for the fruits being carried abroad.

She and her companion didn't actually carry much conversation except for two-hour increments set aside to practice her Vulcan. The Vulcan male professed to feeling 'exceptionally satisfied' by the witch's swift progress and increasing fluency, due mostly to small sips of Wit-Sharpening Potion concealed in an opaque flask that she excused for water. The atmospheric conditions within the cabins were calibrated for Vulcan sensibilities, so it passed muster.

When she had run out of anything else to entertain herself, being unwilling to re-read many of her oft-favored novels for the umpteenth time, the young woman would take soft naps. They never lasted longer than a few hours, and she'd sometimes woken up in odd positions that should've given her a crick in her neck. Liv would only tip her head towards her friend, however, to which he would respond with the tiniest of nods.

Though greatly enthused to set foot on her first alien planet, she was still more relieved to get off the space shuttle than to actually get there.

Her first impression of Vulcan was: sand in mah mouth!

Well, there went the romance of travel.

* * *

For whatever reason, the heat and dryness was something she wasn't entirely prepared for; naturally, that made her decision to charm nothing but her formal wear against it utterly ridiculous. As such, the witch had to suffer through the blazing temperatures of Vulcan and hope that she was attaining the same level of 'resting poker face' as literally _everybody else_ around her. The young woman cussed viciously at the weather's intolerance of her sensibilities behind her eyes as she and N'Keth collected their luggage and went out to the public city transport platform.

"My home is in the commercial-residential area approximately 4.39 kilometers from the spaceport," he explained as they entered one of the transport pods. It was standard built, a two-seater plush cabin with shiny chrome finishes and a stand with buttons in the Vulcan alphabet. The Vulcan male entered their destination into the control panel, which immediately constructed a holographic route to the station closest to it. They were off in short order. "It is currently occupied by my father, Voss, my mother, T'Heseng, and a clan elder; my mother's grandmother T'Hel."

"You shall have to teach me the proper pronunciation of your maternal relations' names," Liv stated, nose scrunching up as she tried to remember how to put the syllables together properly. "I don't want to start off on the wrong foot with your family this early."

The Vulcan male easily acquiesced, then blinked bemusedly, "Start off on the wrong foot…?"

"A metaphor for making a bad first impression," she explained. "It comes from traditional couples' dances back when it was still common to have choreography in social dancing. Couples' dances often have a set formula of steps, and starting off wrong usually ends up with one partner stepping on the other's feet, which isn't exactly the best way you want to impress somebody."

"Ah."

* * *

Though the transport system was quick, it still took close to half an hour for the pod to drop them off, as the neighborhood N'Keth lived in was really far from the downtown core. In point of fact, his family home, located deep in what the human would identify as a suburban area, was the kind of place you'd be expected to drive a hovercar to get to from work.

Unlike other suburbs she'd seen, even well into the 23rd century, Vulcan suburbs were varied in shape and size, if not in color which was essentially the same red sand as the desert around. Walls divided homes into private estates or compounds depending on the size of the family living there, and she could see leaves and even branches poking out of what must be home gardens full to bursting.

Liv had to remember to ask if the fruits were in season yet.

Still, it was hard work carrying her stuff over one shoulder in a thick robe, feeling the heat and brightness of the planet beat down on her poor, English-bred body. Her girlhood Germany wasn't any better, being mostly temperate and forested instead of desert.

As they pulled up to a set of gates, of wrought steel and bordered by sandstone-like walls at least 8-foot high ringing the residence, the thief could only try to suppress her pants and sweating and say quietly, "Are you sure that this place doesn't have wild sehlat problems?" If her tone was a little sarcastic, no one could exactly blame her.

Her friend replied factually, "No," and led the way inside when the gates opened with a chime. At the front door, they encountered their welcoming party: a pair of dark-haired Vulcans and a greying lady in venerable robes behind them. They all looked properly intimidating.

Eyes a little wide, it could perhaps be forgiven if Liv cowered a bit behind N'Keth as they raised their right hands in the traditional ta'al.

"Live long and prosper."

* * *

 _ **A.N: Okay… that was a doozy for me to write, in the midst as I am in the belly of trying to secure a second job and of maintaining social ties because I told myself it was pathetic to not have a friend for more than three years.**_

 _ **Seriously.**_

 _ **Anyhow, wish me luck as I attend a job interview on Thursday. Let me have this job, please!**_

 _ **NOTE: Tried to make the chapter longer, don't think I succeeded as I thought I would. Let me know how I did?**_


End file.
